


victory march

by tremontaine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dirty Talk, Fluff, Multi, OT3, Porn with Feelings, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 15:05:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2626115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tremontaine/pseuds/tremontaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after the night before: Natasha and Steve’s idea of pillow talk is to conduct a thorough examination of their issues until sex ensues, and Bucky thinks they think too much (or he would, if they told him what they were talking about).</p>
            </blockquote>





	victory march

**Author's Note:**

> The feelings are Steve/Bucky/Nat but most of the onscreen action is Nat/Steve; shares a theme with "steal some covers, share some skin". 
> 
> All of Steve and Nat's rather confused opinions about casual sex in general and their issues in particular are _Steve and Nat's_ rather confused opinions and do not reflect either the author's ideas or any kind of Universal Truth (TM) about people and relationships and sex.

“Go on, then,” Natasha said.

“Mmm? With what?” Steve turned his head to look at her, smiling. He was sprawled on his front in the pillows, all golden skin and shining hair in the morning sunshine. Natasha leant on one elbow and smiled back.

“Practice,” she said.

He bit his lip innocently. “I didn’t.”

“With James, though –“

“Obviously.”

“Also you just lied to me.”

Steve groaned. “Is this what you do after, ask lots of questions?”

“I like a good gossip.” Natasha bit her own lip, struggling not to laugh. She was warm all over and thoroughly relaxed, and this was lovely – this easy teasing. It was good to know her friendship with Steve was still her friendship with Steve, strong and steady at the core of everything else.

“You like to gather information.”

“That as well.” After a second she said, “Not like that. Everyone always thinks it. Well, it’s in my codename. Did anyone ever dare gossip about me in front of you at SHIELD? They would’ve told you a tall tale or two.”

“The Black Widow, stone-cold heartless bitch who bites the heads off all the men she sleeps with. One of Rumlow’s hanger-ons tried it once.”

“And what did you say?”

“That if he talked like that about any woman in my presence again I’d put him headfirst through a pane of security glass. They all seemed to expect it,” he added, curling his arms under the pillow and shifting his legs lazily.

“So you obliged.” Natasha smiled.

“It’s very easy to give people the Captain America they deserve.” Most of his face was mashed into the pillow, but she could tell he was rolling his eyes.

“That,” she said innocently, “sounds like a tough way to live.”

Steve started laughing. “Yeah. Well, then my best friend came back from the dead and –“

“Shared life experience. I understand.” She nodded sagely. It wasn’t like it was any different for her. Steve laughed and laughed, more relaxed than she had ever seen him. “So! Practice?”

The laughter trailed off. He sighed and shifted forwards, propping himself on his elbows, head hanging down towards the pillow for a second. She wondered what bad memory she’d accidentally conjured up, and was about to move to him. Then he said, “After DC, I… went out some.”

“ _After_ DC?” Natasha was amazed.

“It’s the serum,” he said. “In a way. After I’ve been hurt – healing up like that, it – well, it makes me –“

“Horny.”

He smiled. “Among other things. But mostly the other things. Nervous. Energetic. Like there’s fireworks under my skin. Can’t settle to anything. Warm all the time, like a hot flush. It lasts about a week, sometimes two.”

“So you went out and had sex with nameless strangers?” That didn’t sound like Steve, and her tone made it clear she didn’t believe it.

“Course not. I went out and kissed some nameless strangers, though. It wasn’t,” rather thoughtfully, “as good as I’d hoped.”

“You were probably keyed up and worried about James.”

He looked past her, towards the half-open bedroom door and James’ pants on the back of the chair in the corner. “Yeah.”

Jittery and in shock and in need of human touch and contact. Natasha knew the feeling. She shuffled over and pressed him back into the pillows with a hand between his shoulderblades. Then she snuggled up to him, smiling. They heard the shower come on, and James’ voice raised in the snatch of a song before he put the radio in the living room and turned it down a notch.

“Pretty sure it’s waterproof,” said Natasha. James absolutely despised mornings. If he had his way he’d never be up before ten; but when he did get up it was best to leave him alone and let him take the three hours he needed to wake up properly without getting in his way. The first time Natasha had seen him in this state of early-morning grumpiness she had been utterly enchanted. It was still pretty adorable now.

“Habit,” said Steve. “Don’t put electricity near water.” He shrugged. “Hey, since we’re gossiping” – she laughed at him – “what about you?”

Natasha bit her lip. “If you’re after an STD panel you’re a bit late.”

“Of course I’m not.” He sounded affronted.

She kissed his shoulder. “I know. I’m teasing, relax. There, uh. Not all that many.”

“More than me,” he pointed out, unashamed but amused.

“Well. Not that many more. Maybe – three? Besides James?”

He was silent, only moving to put an arm around her.

“The first one wasn’t great,” she said. “I thought I was a virgin. Because of the wipe. And I wanted – I don’t know what I wanted. I went out and found someone, and it was easy to, you know, have fun. I mean I did have fun. Physically. It was, strictly speaking, excellent sex. But after…” She pulled a face. “And the next couple times were the same. I enjoyed myself in the moment. But it wasn’t really…”

“What you wanted.”

“Nah.”

“Nothing compared to him?” He jerked his head towards the bedroom door, grinning again, and it made Natasha giggle. “I think it’s about liking people. Bucky loves people. He always has. They interest him. It makes him happy to make other people happy.”

“He’s slept with half of Brooklyn?”

“Probably. But he – he enjoys himself with people, even people he doesn’t really know, in a way that – I can’t do it. Not people I don’t know. It’s not just sex.”

“I know,” Natasha said. Did she ever. “I think – there’s two ways to do it. Either you’re completely and totally sure of yourself, or you keep the two things completely separate.”

“Bucky’s always been completely and totally sure of himself,” Steve said. “Even after Italy.”

Natasha didn’t answer for a few seconds. This struck her as… unlikely, but she suspected that at the time James had been more than capable of the fake-it-till-you-make it school of recovery, especially vis-à-vis Steve, and after all, they had been in the middle of a war. She rubbed a foot along his calf and thought it over. As for the rest… yes. It was easy, for her, to separate her mind from her body, to turn off her emotions and live in sensation and pleasure – or, of course, the other way round – but she didn’t like to (too much like work), and she liked people even less. They weren’t a bit interesting, as a group: pedestrian, transparent, and untrustworthy.

She said suddenly, “I envy you. You always – you live, completely, in your own body.”

“Well I can now, so I like to,” said Steve, very matter-of-fact.

Natasha laughed. He kissed her hair, and she heard him take a breath, long and slow. Twenty-four hours ago her hair would’ve smelt like citrus; now it smelt of sweat and sex and smoke from yesterday’s barbecue. Steve certainly did.

“Sometimes I wish I could pick an option and just keep to it. You know? But I can’t. I keep – you know, even last night there was a moment when I thought, now, I could kill them both right now.”

“Yeah, but we all do that,” said Steve – the single most breathtakingly comforting thing Natasha had ever heard him say.

“Oh!” She pressed closer, his thigh slipping warm and heavy between her own, and couldn’t find an answer.

Steve said, “Slap me down if this is awful, but –“

“But?”

“You’ve never had sex with a mark?”

Natasha burst out laughing. “I knew you’d ask. No, never.”

“I’m not saying I _expected_ the answer to be yes.”

“But you thought it might be. Honestly? Every now and then it comes close. That’s usually dependent on the mark. If he’s got… weird… tastes, for example. That’s an easy in. But it’s so, so much easier to talk to people. Everybody thinks I spent my teenage years being sexually groomed by mysterious Russian spy… brothel owners or something. I can tell when somebody’s aroused by me and I know how to use it to my advantage, but they had much easier ways of brainwashing you than Stockholm Syndrome. Apart from anything else it would’ve meant getting up close and naked and personal with a succession of trained killers who have no reason to like them. That ain’t smart.”

“No, I guess it isn’t.” Steve laughed quietly. “OK, what’s the most useful cover you’ve ever had?”

“PA.”

“Seriously.”

“Seriously. You prove that you’re good at your job within the first two days, they will give you everything. I mean _everything_. It is _made_ for spying.”

“That… I never thought about it before. But it makes sense.”

“It does.” They smiled at each other, faces close enough that for a few moments they were breathing each other’s breath – that sounded more romantic than it was – then she kissed him, and yeah – yeah, it wouldn’t take long – she rocked her hips up against his thigh and nibbled on his lower lip when he moved over her, closed her eyes against the too-bright sunlight on the ceiling. Delicious, to be borne down into the mattress by him, like this, in daylight, with time – so much time – ahead of them to do whatever they wanted. Natasha wrapped her arms around his waist, hands limp on the small of his back, and gave up thinking in favour of the catch of their lips, the sounds he was making, the slide of his tongue against hers, the little nips to her chin and jaw.

“So wait –“

He drew back immediately, way too far, and Natasha had to smile. Darling, darling idiot. “You OK?”

“Yes, idiot. What I wanted to say was – James was your first.”

“Oh! Yes.” Then, understanding: “Yours?”

“To be fair,” said Natasha, “I’m not one hundred percent sure? But it seems pretty likely. On the strength of the evidence.”

Steve kissed her again. “Could’ve been a lot worse.”

She cackled. Yes it could have. “So –“

“So, what?” Steve was smiling at her. The smell of coffee and James’ shampoo was filling the bedroom slowly, wafting through the half-open door and wafting out again via the window. Natasha, grinning, pushed the bedclothes down with her legs, feeling goosebumps springing up, and squirmed away to roll onto her side, back to Steve, waiting for him to get it – which, bless him, he did at once; his warm fingers touched her hip gently, then slid down to her lower back. He drew them up her spine a ways, watching her shiver, or so she supposed. Come along, love. She pushed back a bit, rocked her hips – he took his hand away and put it on her thigh, just below her ass.

“One day,” he said, and kissed her hip, “when I can keep my hands off you for long enough” – Natasha laughed, delighted by the idea that he couldn’t now – “I’m going to draw you like this.”

“Naked and artistic,” she said. She’d like that.

“Naked,” he agreed, “in this bed – with that smile you’ve got right now – well-fucked and wanting more.”

Natasha swallowed hard. She'd like that more.

“D’you have a collection of dirty drawings already?” He kissed her hip again, the curve of her waist, her ribs, one by one, moved her arm to the mattress to give him access, up to the curve of her shoulder.

“No,” Steve said, voice a little rough, breath against her ear. “Not of you. That’s invasive.”

“You’re an officer and a gentleman.” Dammit. Then she thought, _not of me?_ “But of James?”

She didn’t even need to see him grin. “Maybe.”

“What kind?”

“Pretty much the kind I wanna make of you.”

_Well-fucked and wanting more_. He cupped her left breast in his hand, played with it curiously, rubbing her nipple and massaging her skin. It was funny how that looked painful, the way his fingers dented her flesh, but absolutely was not. She pressed her thighs together, feeling her cunt swollen and growing wet.

“From life?”

He paused, already distracted. “Well, you know. Eidetic memory.”

“But from life?” The idea of lying here like this, tired, sensitive, eager for more, looking at him sitting in an armchair opposite her and drawing her like she was any uninterested artist’s model…

“Tried,” Steve admitted. “Didn’t get very far.”

Natasha giggled. “He can’t sit still.”

“Couldn’t stop jacking himself off, either,” said Steve. “Lying here in the sunlight with his legs spread and his hand round his cock…”

Her throat was dry and there was something fluttering and shivering in her chest. “I want to see that drawing.”

“I’ll get it for you.” He was hard against the small of her back, his body shielding her from the breeze from the window, and he shifted position – propped on one elbow, he slid that forearm under her head and shoulders and drew her close to him – it was stupid that it turned her on so much that he and James were both so much bigger than she. She knew perfectly well that it was artificial in Steve’s case, but she couldn’t help it. She was rubbing one foot against the worn-soft sheets, the odd little scouring noise loud in her own ears.

“What’s your very favourite thing to do?” she asked breathlessly.

“Get fucked,” Steve said immediately. “God, there’s nothing like it.”

“No. Held down and opened up and filled up so perfectly…” She wriggled against him, sighed in delight. “Remind me to buy a strap-on.”

For a moment Steve was silent. Then he said harshly, “The sooner the better.”

She laughed, and after a second he laughed too. “Just thinking about it…”

She could tell. The way his cock jerked had spoken for itself. Natasha grinned.

“What about right now?” She needed him in her, really she did.

“What’s your very favourite thing to do?” he countered.

“I… don’t think I’ve figured it out yet. James and me – it was – usually pretty fast and hidden, you know, there was only the once that – we had this hotel room.” She thought back, trying to summon up the memory of that night through the haze of the broken wipe, searching for details. Aside from it being the first time anyone had gone down on her, there wasn’t much. She thought they might have broken a lamp, though.

“Oh wow,” said Steve, and with the fingers of the arm lying under her he pinched her right nipple gently, tugged and rolled it. “We’re gonna have to try _everything_.”

Natasha laughed. “What a hardship.”

“Impossible,” he said solemnly. “Even with the serum.”

“Lucky for me I’ve got two of you.”

“These national icons are the personal property of Natasha Romanov,” he said, and she was laughing so much he’d lifted her thigh and slid his cock between her legs almost before she noticed.

“Ah! Oh, don’t tease.” She reached down to touch herself, to guide him in, and he bit down on her upper arm and groaned.

“Nat, Nat.”

“ _My_ national icon,” she said, grinning. But instead of teasing back Steve laughed breathlessly and kissed the bruise he’d just made on her arm; she turned her head to look at him, saw the sun-kissed blonde hair and the wide shoulders, the uneven line of his nose as he turned his own head.

“You’d better believe it,” he said. “You’re stuck with both of us.” He moved his hips, but only minutely, and wouldn’t let her move hers, one big hand covering her abs and holding her still. “For good.”

“Don’t –“ she said. “Don’t make promises –“

“I know,” Steve said. “I know. But Bucky always keeps ‘em. Always.”

She had to close her eyes. He kissed her jaw, her chin, the corner of her mouth, his lips soft and swollen with kissing, with the blowjob he’d given James, with the decades he’d spent yesterday learning to eat her out under her own and James’ enthusiastic tuition.

“Fine,” she said. “Keep you. Personal property. Cuff you naked to the bedpost sometime and leave you there all day for me to do whatever I want with…” And she stifled a laugh, all surprise and glee, when she felt the full-body shudder go through him.

“Don’t be smug,” he said, and his hips were moving now, little back-and-forth twitches, not enough to bring him out of her – more than fine by Natasha, who bit her lip and clenched her hand and revelled in the not-enough friction, the warmth and smell and weight of him. “Bet you’d love it too. Left alone in bed all day with nothing to do but think about how good we are together.”

“You’d jack off twice an hour every hour for as long as you were there.”

“Like you wouldn’t!”

Natasha had to put an unusual amount of effort into her disdainful tone. “Unlike some of us, _I_ am capable of a little self-restraint.”

“No you’re not. You came three times last night and here you are, all wet and eager and wanting more.”

“Well I hate to break it to you, Steve” – she dropped her hand between her legs again, stroked herself, their fingers tangling together over her clit, then circled his cock as best she could where he was stretching her open – “but it really does take two to tango in this case.”

Cheerfully, if slightly strained, he said. “I wanna see it – you – just like Buck. Lie here – smell us on the sheets, spread your legs – I want to see that, want to watch you touch yourself – how you’d comb your hair out of the way and curl your fingers right _here_ –“ and now he was thrusting in earnest, slow but hard, lovely, lovely, and Natasha flung her hand back and caught his hip, nails digging in:

“You think I don’t, could watch you for hours, never seen anything so beautiful as you and James together. Your mouth, Steve, your mouth is ridiculous, love the sounds you make when you come, by the way, that little gasp you try’n keep in, how your mouth falls open. We’ll do it sometime – all three of us on opposite sides of the room and see who breaks first.”

“It’ll be me,” he said, voice all rough and husky and low, “it’ll be me, can’t keep my hands off you, want you always, _dream_ about it.”

So do I, Natasha thought, too far gone to say it, eyes closed tight, need coiling in her belly, her thighs tense, her breath coming short and sharp. All the weeks they had been dancing around each other, all the time she had been moving, step by step, into their bed and their lives; when James had kissed her last week at that ridiculous party Tony had thrown for the Fourth of July she’d gone up in flames and it wasn’t yet burnt out. Dreamed of this? All she’d had to do was close her eyes in bed at night. Steve had been right earlier: once she had her memories of James back, however clouded and undetailed, no amount of anonymous sex for fun had compared. Trust was where the difference was, the line that separated fun from need for her – trust and everything that came with it, honesty, caring, love. To have had that, and then know it had been ripped away – but that was years ago, and she had him back; and Steve besides.

She opened her eyes, moaning quietly, voice dissolving into little cries whenever Steve pushed in, as if he was shocking the breath out of her. Close now, so close, footsteps in the corridor and the door swung all the way open even as she was already coming, mouth open and silent, aftershocks skittering though her with every move Steve made, thumb on her clit, still fucking her relentlessly.

James dropped the towel he’d been holding and went from zero to sixty in about half a second, so quick he had to catch hold of the doorframe, enticingly damp and pink all over.

“God almighty,” he said in a strangled voice. “Jesus H. tapdancing Roosevelt Christ.”

“Ohhhhh…” Natasha started laughing, interspersed with quick moans as Steve moved inside her; she wanted badly to see what James was seeing now, Steve curled above and around her, their bodies moving in quick time, her own ecstasy. “Missed you,” she gasped out, and felt Steve laugh behind her, tense with effort.

“Then he’s been doin’ it wrong,” said James, flushed as red as her own hair. She flung her hand out across the mattress to beckon to him; he knelt on the bed and carded his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Beautiful,” he murmured.

Steve shuddered. Natasha said, “Let go, sweetheart, come on, I want it, just let go,” and brought his wet fingers up to lick her own come off them. Then she reached back and caught his ear and tugged him into a kiss, as wet and dirty as she could make it. Maybe half a minute – Steve hot and groaning into her mouth – and – oh. He collapsed against her, and surely it was a sign of just how far gone she really was that even his sweat on her skin was – not pleasant exactly but carnal and honest and exciting.

He moved out of her – she groaned at the loss – fell back against the pillows, his arm still underneath her, breathing hard and sprawled like an invitation: well-fucked and wanting more. Propped up on her elbows the way Steve had been earlier, Natasha studied him intently.

“Should have a picture of this,” she said, and the most delicious shudder took her when James bent and kissed the marks Steve’s teeth had left in her shoulder earlier.

“Steve’s got a book of filthy drawings somewhere,” he said. His breath smelt of coffee and jam, his hands and skin were warm with the hot shower he’d taken, and Natasha would have taken him happily, but she had a feeling Steve would get more out of it.

“I know,” she said. “He’s promised to start a new one just for me.”

“Mmmm.” James kissed her, knees on either side of hers and bent forwards ridiculously as she craned her head around. He had shaved as well as showered and eaten – no wonder he’d been so long, he still used a straight razor.

“I didn’t,” said Steve, “but I will.” Natasha felt him curling his fingers against her arm. She squirmed onto her back, and James fell easily into the v of her thighs, his elbows digging into the mattress and his hands in her hair as they made out, lazy and loving. Beside them, Steve’s breath caught; then he gave a sigh that sounded anything but tired. His arm was still under her shoulders.

“Hint,” she said at last.

“Yeah?” James sounded amused.

“His favourite thing is getting fucked.”

“Yeah.” James sighed happily.

“Nat doesn’t know what hers is,” said Steve.

“That’s all right,” said James, nosing at her jaw, kissing her smile. “I do.”

It twisted things in her chest to hear that: surprise, relief, love. Her wipe had come apart piece by piece, tatters of it still hanging in her mind; James’ had broken all at once, like a wall falling down. He must remember their time together better than she did. God, it made her feel safe.

Natasha said, “It might’ve changed. We’ll have to try everything anyway.”

“All yours,” James promised.

Steve said, “Personal property,” and grinned at her.

James said, “Can I get the lube and fuck you nice and simple before we start getting creative?”

Steve stretched with a movement that reminded Natasha of nothing so much as a great cat lolling in the sunshine, all grace and power. “All yours,” he said, smiling.

“I,” Natasha said, “need a drink. And a cup of coffee.” She leaned sideways and kissed Steve again, quick and warm, and then she and James were sliding about the bed, looking for the lube and a shirt to wear respectively. It wasn’t till she was in the doorway that she actually thought to ask.

“What is it, then?”

“What?” James had two fingers inside Steve already, and the flush on his face and the way his hips were moving were really very pretty. Natasha couldn’t blame him for being distracted. “Oh, your favourite thing. Up against the wall, darlin’ love.” He was smiling.

She’d been rubbing her fingers across the beard-burn round her mouth; now she bit down on her thumb sharply. “The _wall_ –” God, either of them could hold her up one-handed, pin her and just – yeah. Whoo. Or, Jesus, being held up between them… “Under consideration. Yeah.”

“And,” said James, “how about a strap-on?”

“Will you _quit teasing_ ,” said Steve, sounding strangled.

“I’ll order it online,” Natasha said, and went to get coffee and do exactly that.

 

 


End file.
